Bannerman the Enforcer 44

by Kirk Hamilton

  Yancey nodded. “No argument with that. You got yourselves a problem. Guess I only made it worse, too, gunning down young Brandon King.”

  “You had no choice,” Cannon said.

  Yancey held up a hand. “That won’t cut no ice with Nathan King from what you’ve told me. I came here because I had something I wanted to forget and the first train out of Fort Wakeman was headed here. I didn’t care anything about Calico Wells or its troubles. I was feeling kind of mean when I got off the train. Then, seeing that fracas in the saloon, with King treating your missus so badly, Benbow, well, it was the excuse I needed to cut loose. I feel kind of guilty because it made young King try for me again and I had to nail him. As that made things worse for this town, I couldn’t, in all conscience, move on and leave you.”

  There were murmurs from the Council; this was exactly what they wanted to hear.

  “My position is this,” Yancey went on. I’m the top Enforcer for Lester Dukes, Governor of Texas. I’ve just had a dirty assignment that made me want to get away from, things, off the beaten track. But, like I said, I’ve stirred up a hornets’ nest here and now it’s up to me to stay and see that it gets settled. But I can’t hang around indefinitely and I can’t go stirring up more trouble just to get it over and done with. In other words, the next move’ll have to be up to Nathan King.”

  “Don’t worry none about that!” Marv Lincoln said. “When Nathan sees what happened to his son and the others, he’ll make his move all right. He’ll come straight after you, Bannerman.”

  “That’ll be fine,” the Enforcer said. “But from what I hear, King won’t just come after me—he’ll blame the whole town for this, especially if they think I’m a gunfighter you’ve hired. I doubt that there’ll be much time to explain the truth, and likely King wouldn’t be interested anyway. All he’ll see is that his son’s dead along with some of his men and he’ll figure the town has defied him. Now, what’s he likely to do about that?”

  “Burn us out!” someone said.

  “Near enough,” Cannon agreed soberly. “He’ll ride in here and create all kinds of hell.”

  “Then well get ready for him,” Yancey said. “If I’m staying on, I need backing, and it’s got to come from this town.”

  There was an awkward silence for a while. Will Benbow broke it:

  “We know what you say is gospel, Bannerman, but you gotta realize that this town’s been down a long time under Nathan King’s heel. The Council here took a big step when we forked out two grand to bring in Speed Jarrett. We knew we’d likely have to give him some backin’, but I guess that deep down we hoped he could manage it himself. We need time to sort of, well, adjust to the idea of buckin’ Nathan King,”

  “You don’t have time,” Yancey said. “As soon as he learns his son is dead, he’ll gather his men and come thundering in. It’s the logical thing to expect. Look, I feel obligated over Jarrett, too. It was my pard who killed him in a ghost town shoot-out a few days back. He wouldn’t’ve turned up anyway; he’d have run off with your money. So you can forget about ever seeing that two thousand dollars again. But I don’t want any money. As a lawman—a special one, granted—it’d be irresponsible of me to walk away from the situation here. I can only help you if you’ll help yourselves.”

  He looked around the group with his chill eyes and they saw the hard set of his chin and knew that here was a strong man with every bit as much iron in his backbone as Nathan King, a man who could be their salvation if only they could find the guts to back him up.

  It was not an easy decision for people who had been subjugated for so long...

  “You’re right, Bannerman,” Marv Lincoln finally conceded. “We need to back you, and I reckon I speak for the town when I say we will.”

  He raked his gaze around the group and one by one the council members nodded.

  “That’s fine,” Yancey said. “But there’s one other thing. As I said, I can’t stick around here forever. You’ll need someone to enforce the law after I’ve gone. You’ll have to elect a sheriff. He doesn’t have to be full time; a part-time lawman should be all that’s necessary. But give him a generous salary. The reason why most towns have so many changes of lawman is because they pinch pennies. If they pay a fair salary they’ll get—and hold—a good man.” He looked at all the group in one sweeping glance. “Any ideas?”

  The townsmen were silent for a spell, then Will Benbow stepped forward.

  “I’ll take on that job. Part-time only, though.”

  The councilors looked startled.

  “You, Will?” exclaimed Jed Cannon. “But what about Mary havin’ the baby? You can’t go givin’ her extra worry now!”

  “We’ve already got extra worries,” said Benbow grimly. “Doc Stedman just told us that Mary might have a breech-birth, an operation that costs money. I can get enough money totin’ a badge to pay for it, I reckon, and I want Mary to have the best.”

  The councilors spoke animatedly amongst themselves. Yancey let them go for a little and then he said:

  “From what I’ve seen and heard about Will Benbow, I reckon he’s the right man for the job. He wasn’t afraid to stand up to Brandon King and the others when they threatened his wife. I say give him the badge and a decent salary. I’ll teach him all I know, and I reckon you’ll have another iron man in this town to keep Nathan King in line after I’ve moved on.”

  Benbow nodded his thanks to Yancey and then turned to face the councilors.

  “Well, gents? Are you gonna make me sheriff of Calico Wells?”

  Four – Barricade

  Nathan King stood at the graveside with a tattered Bible in his hands, the wind stirring his silver-gray hair about his ears and leathery features. His long moustache moved as he read words by memory from the Good Book, hardly glancing at the fine print, raking his blue-eyed gaze around the gathering of bare-headed ranch hands. He rested his gaze momentarily on the hard, square face of Chad Barnes, then he looked down into the newly dug grave at the top of the plain pine box that served as a coffin for his son.

  Nathan King’s jaw was iron-hard as he knelt on one knee and lifted a handful of earth, crumbling it and letting it fall onto the coffin as he intoned:

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...”

  Then, raising his eyes to the scudding clouds, he improvised, “And I swear on my son’s grave that the man who put him here will himself be part of the sod of Calico Wells before this sundown! I swear that I will teach this town a lesson it will never forget! Its inhabitants will cower at the name of Nathan King and they will lick my boots if I say so! This I swear over the body of my only son!”

  He broke a little on the last word, then he angrily cleared his throat and glared around at the cowhands. He completed the service and closed the Bible with a thud. He nodded and the silent men placed their hats on their heads. He nodded again and two men began shoveling earth into the grave. Nathan King didn’t move until the mound had been patted down into place, then he took a crude wooden cross from Chad Barnes and stabbed it into the mound at his son’s head.

  On the parallel bar of the cross were burned the words: Brandon King - Aged 20 years - Murdered.

  There were other graves in this small fenced-in area. They were the resting places of King’s wife and his other children, three in all, and his father. He had not known his mother, for soon after his birth she had wandered into the badlands never to be seen again.

  The men stood around awkwardly, waiting for dismissal by King. The old man stood there silently, his head bowed, for a long time. He looked up suddenly and it seemed to Chad Barnes that his eyes only then came into full focus for the first time since the burial service had begun. He looked around at the gathered men, his face hardening.

  The wind whipped back the tails of his frock coat and revealed the holstered Colt on his thigh. He dropped a hand to the butt of the weapon now.

  “We ride,” he said.

  “All of us, Nate?” Chad Barnes asked.

&nbs
p; King eyed the ramrod coldly. “All of us.”

  Barnes nodded and gestured to the men to start back down to the big ranch yard and saddle up. As the ramrod started to turn away, King put a hand on his arm.

  “Walk with me,” King said.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes and then the rancher said, “What did you say about Speed Jarrett?”

  “That’s who Cannon’s damn town council sent for, it seems like,” Barnes said. “They paid out two thousand dollars to bring him in to go against us.”

  Nathan King grunted, his lips thinning under the smoke-stained moustache. “They’ll pay for that—and a lot more than two thousand. That money must’ve taken some raisin’. The whole town must’ve kicked in.”

  “Dunno how they got it,” the ramrod confessed, “but they sent it on to Jarrett. Seems like he was just gonna keep it, though, and not show up. But then he got himself killed by Bannerman’s pard in some ghost town.” Barnes paused. “Nate, don’t you think we ought to take things a mite easy?”

  King stopped dead in his tracks and swung his big head around to face Barnes, glaring. “What’re you gettin’ at?”

  “Well, Bannerman’s an Enforcer. He works for the Governor himself.”

  “He killed my son,” King said flatly.

  “Yeah, sure; But what I mean is, we might stir up all kinds of hell goin’ at him. Dukes is likely to send in other Enforcers to investigate.”

  “Let him!”

  “But, Nate, the town’ll say we knew who Bannerman was! Then they’ll tell what Brandon was doin’ to Mary Benbow and—”

  King’s hard stare stopped the ramrod in mid-sentence. “Bannerman killed my son. So he dies. And don’t worry none about the town. They’ll give out any story I tell ’em to afore I get through with ’em. I’ll show the lousy bastards I don’t take kindly to sendin’ for a gunfighter to go agin me! They’ll be almighty sorry, mark my words.”

  Chad Barnes said no more as they tramped down to the yard.

  Twenty minutes later the cowhands were mounted outside the big ranch house. Nathan King faced them, sitting saddle on his Arab stallion ramrod-straight, his hands folded on the saddle horn.

  “You follow me in and do exactly like l say,” he told them. “Any man who ain’t got a strong stomach had better not ride with me today. He can quit right now. I’ll pay him what he’s got comin’ and that’ll be the end of it.”

  The rancher paused, his hard gaze raking over his men. No one made a move. King nodded.

  “Good. Make no mistake, this is not gonna be a tea party. I make the law here and it’s to show Calico Wells once and for all that that’s the way it’s gonna be. Now, do a good job and there’s a bonus in it for every man-jack of you. Just one thing: I want Bannerman with enough life left in him so’s I can put him on trial for my son’s murder.” He slapped the coiled lariat hanging on his saddle. “And then I’ll string him up.” He smiled crookedly. “Legal-like!”

  He turned his horse towards the yard gate and lifted his left arm to execute a sweeping forward motion.

  “Let’s go!” he shouted and the cavalcade moved-out of the ranch yard at a gallop, leaving a pall of dust hanging over the big house.

  The people of Calico Wells used wagons, buckboards, piled-up rain barrels, sandbags, crates, old doors and shutters, and bales of hay to build a barricade across Main Street at the southern end of town. Will Benbow, Yancey, Cannon, and Lincoln and the other council members stood behind this barricade with their weapons. Behind them, in the town’s buildings and on the roofs other townsmen crouched nervously, their varied weapons at the ready.

  One of these men, up on the roof of the church, called down as he sighted Nathan King and his men.

  “Here they come!”

  Yancey looked up at the man. “How many?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Bannerman, but there sure is one helluva cloud of dust. I guess he brought most of his crew with him.”

  Yancey turned to Lincoln. “How many men would that be?”

  “Twenty-five, thirty,” the blacksmith answered. “He probably left a few back at the spread.”

  Yancey nodded and looked at Will Benbow, who cradled a shotgun loaded with the Brennecke slugs. Yancey had given the young rancher this weapon after he had taken the oath of office and had the sheriff’s star pinned to his vest. Benbow had confessed that he was only tolerably handy with a gun and Yancey had figured that If there ever was a situation where the Brennecke slugs could be put to good use, this was it.

  “Well, Sheriff, how does it feel?” Yancey asked.

  Will Benbow smiled under the pad of bandages around his battered face. “I feel kind of sick in the belly,” he confessed.

  Yancey slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right,” He looked around at the others, all of them tense, wiping sweaty palms and faces. The womenfolk and children were well out of sight. “I doubt that you’ve got anything to worry about. If King’s got any sense he won’t force the issue here, not with the whole town against him.”

  “Trouble is, his men are all paid to fight as well as punch cows,” Jed Cannon pointed out. “They’re hardcases, Bannerman, one and all of ’em. They’ve been drawin’ fightin’ wages for a long time now. Once they show their teeth it wouldn’t surprise me none to find half of the townsfolk runnin’ off with their tails between their legs.”

  Yancey nodded. He wouldn’t be surprised either. These were family men, not fighters. They might decide it was better to live under the heel of a man like Nathan King than to risk getting their head shot off trying to back Will Benbow and the town council. Still, the fact that they’d taken up arms showed that some courage was there. All that was needed was for someone to set an example, to go up against King and cut him down to size, for them to find and keep that courage permanently.

  “Reckon there are more’n twenty men in that bunch!” a man called down from the roof of the freight depot. “King’s out front on that big Ay-rab of his.”

  Yancey waved acknowledgement and glanced at Benbow. “How do you want to handle it?” he asked.

  Benbow looked surprised. “Well, I figured I’d back you up in whatever you did or said.”

  Yancey scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “But you’re toting the badge now. You’re the one who’ll be staying on here. Might be better if you do the talking and I do the backing.”

  Benbow stiffened, his face a little pale. He glanced out across the plains where the dust cloud was easy to see now. “I guess you’re right, Bannerman,” he said, dealing his throat. “I’ve taken on this chore and I might as well do it right from the start.”

  Yancey nodded in approval. “How’d your wife take the news?”

  Benbow smiled wryly. “Not too good. She fussed some last night when I told her. I waited till we got home after the meetin’ before hittin’ her with it, in case she’d try to make me turn the buckboard round and come back to hand in the badge.” He shook his head. “She didn’t like it at first and said so. Then she went quiet and wouldn’t speak to me. But she woke me up early this mornin’ and kissed me and said, ‘Will, I’m scared of what you’re doin’, but even though I wish you weren’t doin’ it, I know it’s right. It ain’t just the extra money to pay for the operation, it’s makin’ the town the right kind of place for our child to grow up in. I don’t pretend I’m happy about it, but it’s somethin’ that needs doin’. I’m just proud that you’re tile one wearin’ that badge.’ Then she cried herself to sleep.” He shook his head again. “No accountin’ for women.”

  “I’d hang onto that one,” Yancey said quietly. “She’s got a lot of spirit.”

  Benbow smiled and there was pride in his eyes. “I know it. She’s exactly the kind of mother I want for my kids.”

  “Gettin’ close now!” Marv Lincoln warned.

  The Enforcer and the new sheriff gave their full attention to the riders coming in across the plains. Yancey saw them slow down and knew King had spotted the barricade and was ap
proaching warily. Now Yancey could see the big Arab stallion out front. King was wearing a clawhammer coat and a wide-brimmed, flat-crowned hat.

  King raised his left hand and the cowmen halted a couple of hundred yards out, staring at the barricade and the armed townsmen.

  Benbow waited tensely, his hands twisting on the twin barrels of the shotgun.

  Then King waved his arm and his men spread out and continued riding. Benbow looked at Yancey.

  “Gonna send his men around behind the barricade,” Yancey said. “Your move, Will.”

  Benbow licked at his lips, glancing at the others. The townsmen were waiting, watching him for a lead.

  “Hold it!” Benbow cried out suddenly. “Call them riders of yours back, King!”

  But King made no move to do so. He sat his Arab stallion, chin lifted, his face hard. He knew tins was a test of strength and was sure the townspeople would be found wanting.

  Benbow raised his shotgun and fired one barrel into the air, the shot rolling like thunder across the plains. The riders reined in and turned to look at King. The old rancher lifted a hand and urged them on. They, kicked their mounts into a gallop.

  Will Benbow’s lips thinned under the bandages on his face and he slowly brought the shotgun to his shoulder. Leading the first rider, he triggered, jerking back with the heavy recoil. The cowpuncher’s horse went down, its chest smashed by the heavy Brennecke slug. The rider catapulted over the horse’s head and rolled in the dust. The other riders reined in hard, turning to look at their dazed companion as he sat up, staring at the dead horse.

  By that time Will Benbow had reloaded the shotgun with fresh Brennecke shells. He stepped onto a buckboard tray, holding the butt of the weapon against his hip.

  “Call ’em back, King!” Benbow yelled. Then he put the shotgun to his shoulder, notched back a hammer and sighted down the twin barrels. “Your Ay-rab’s next to go if you don’t do like I say, King!”

  Yancey nodded in approval of Benbow’s handling of the situation, then he smiled crookedly when Nathan King ordered his men back into a tight group.